by Jo Bartlett
‘Zac always gets what Zac wants.’ There was no trace of a smile as Tom spoke. ‘If he wants you, then who am I to stand in his way?’ She followed him as he made his way back into the hall.
‘What about what I think?’ It wasn’t too late for him to turn round and apologise, but he opened the door and a blast of night air echoed the newly cool atmosphere.
‘Thank Stevie for the offer of the drink. I’ll see you both at some point to review the shoot.’ Without even shaking her hand, let alone kissing her again, he shut the door behind him, leaving Ashleigh in the mood for anything but celebrating.
****
‘Darling, what a surprise, I didn’t think you were coming back again tonight.’ Tom’s mother was delighted to see him, as though she hadn’t seen him for weeks instead of less than an hour before. ‘Everything all right?’ It was typical of Isobel Rushworth to worry about her only son, even in the midst of her own health crisis, and it was one of the many things he loved about her.
‘I’m fine Mum, I just popped in to see a couple of colleagues from work and realised, when I left, that I feel too shattered to drive all the way home tonight,’ He smiled. ‘You don’t mind do you?’
‘Well, Bertie and I were planning to settle down on the sofa with some tea and cake and the latest episode of Downton Abbey, but I’m sure we can squeeze one more in.’ Bertie was her adoring canine companion. He wagged his tail enthusiastically at the sound of his own name, and gave Tom a look, which said he was welcome to join them as long as he’d brought biscuits.
‘Sounds great.’ He meant it. If normality and genuine warmth was what he craved, his mother’s house was the place to find it. She was the one person who wasn’t interested in Tom because of what he could do for her.
‘Are you sure you’re okay, darling? You’ve been through a lot this week.’ Isobel was already cutting him a huge slice of Victoria sponge; no small portions in her house. ‘If you’d rather give Downton a miss, I’ll quite happily spend an hour on a character assassination of Susie-Anne…several in fact. For a start, only oompah loompahs should ever be that colour!’ Isobel winked, bitching about his ex-fiancée clearly entertaining her even more than her favourite TV show.
‘Mum, that’s not like you!’ Tom laughed. She usually saw the good in everyone but, when push came to shove, she was on his side.
‘I read it on a chat site when I Googled her.’ There was a hint of pride in Isobel’s voice at having negotiated the vagaries of the Internet. ‘And let me tell you, that’s extremely mild compared to some of what was written.’
‘You should never Google! If you read half of what was written about me it would horrify you.’ Tom took a swig of tea and grimaced, his mother was prone to letting it stew and he’d taken cough medicine that was smoother.
‘Oh I know, it’s hilarious. I found out today that not only are you gay, but you’ve also had a hair transplant and bum implants!’ Isobel laughed heartily. ‘I haven’t seen anything that funny for ages.’
‘Am I going to regret getting you that iPad?’ Tom smiled, even as exhaustion flooded his body. ‘I can’t be bothered to talk about Susie-Anne, she’s not worth it.’ The dog snuffled around the pocket of Tom’s trousers as he spoke, impatient to discover if there were any biscuits on offer. ‘At least Bertie makes it perfectly clear that he’s only interested in me for the food I might be able to give him. I just wish other people were that honest.’
‘Most of them are darling, but if you will go out with someone like Susie-Anne...’ Isobel’s lip curled as she said the name, ‘then I’m afraid they’ll always be after whatever is in your pocket.’ Tom laughed again, an image of his ex-fiancée’s none too subtle approach to flirtation flitting through his mind. Pocket snuffling might well be one way to describe it. His mother was right, Susie-Anne had been just as persistent as Bertie, only she’d been hungry for fame and didn’t care what she had to do to get it. What worried him most was that he cared so little about losing the family he’d envisaged. Was he doomed to repeat his father’s mistakes? As if reading his mind, Isobel put down her tea.
‘The upside is that your lifestyle must have your father turning in his grave, so it isn’t all bad.’ She smiled, even after all these years it clearly gave her pleasure to rebel against her husband. ‘But next time, just try to make sure your girlfriend stands a slim chance of beating Bertie at Scrabble.’
‘You’re right, I have had more interesting conversations with the dog and, despite his inclination to mate the odd visitor’s leg, he’s a lot more faithful!’ As he spoke, Isobel snorted with laughter. He’d brought Susie-Anne down to see her a couple of times and to say they hadn’t hit it off was an understatement.
It wasn’t the Susie-Anne situation that was bothering him, but he didn’t want to talk about Ashleigh. His feelings towards her were too confused. Why should he care if she was just another wannabe, willing to sleep with anyone who could advance her career? The last thing he wanted was his mother latching on to the name and planning a nice spring wedding in her fevered imagination.
‘You just need to find yourself a nice girl.’ Isobel patted his arm and he fought the urge to sigh. It was only ever a matter of time before she offered up this solution to all his problems. She’d so wanted to see him settled, he knew that, and the prospect of a grandchild had been enough to make them both look past Susie-Anne’s obvious shortcomings. They both knew the clock was ticking for her and he’d been more than willing to sacrifice his own feelings to make his mother happy.
‘It’s a shame then that you were the last nice girl left.’ He kissed her cheek, the compliment aimed at knocking her off track.
‘If only the people who think you’re a heartless workaholic could see you now, my caring boy.’ There was a note of melancholy in his mother’s voice. ‘Although I don’t suppose you want that do you? And plenty of girls on those websites seem to like the fact you’ve got the reputation of being tough.’
‘I don’t care what anyone thinks. When I sold the business to start the agency, I promised I’d follow Dad’s example and I have.’ Tom didn’t miss the look of horror that crossed Isobel’s face as he spoke. ‘When it comes to business, I learnt from the best. Dad put it first and he was immoveable in getting what he wanted, that’s why he was such a success. You know that as well as I do.’
‘Yes, but look at the rest of his life.’ She was still worried. ‘Surely you don’t want to replicate that too?’
‘A personal life’s just not a priority, that’s all. Maybe I’m more like dad than either of us wants to admit. It’s as though I still need his approval and I can get that by making the business a success, by putting it first. Although, Christ knows why I want his approval now he’s dead, I certainly never got it when he was alive.’ He took her hand. His words were obviously upsetting her, but he wanted her to understand that he wasn’t missing out on anything, despite what she might think. ‘In any case, if I let my guard down people would just try to take advantage. I can’t let anyone know that at least a little bit of me comes from you.’ He smiled, relieved that she was smiling too.
‘I hope that bit of you takes over one day, I really do. I feel so guilty about the example we set you, but at least I’ve known love and I just want you to know it too.’ She hugged him and he was suddenly aware how fragile she was, how much weight she’d lost. ‘You know I only want to see you happy.’
‘I know, Mum. Come on, let’s hit the sofa and watch Downton.’ It would be nice to immerse himself for an hour in a time when no-one had heard of reality TV and the only over-stuffed breasts on display would be presented on a silver platter. Not that he’d put that past Susie-Anne, if she thought it would get her on the front page of the paper. Trying not to think about Ashleigh, and whether she was telling the truth about Zac, Tom took another mouthful of the well-stewed tea. How had he got so old and cynical? Half his clients would be heading out to be see
n in whatever club had the highest profile but he couldn’t think of anything worse.
Chapter Seven
Sandgate in late October wasn’t the most wild of towns and there were no high profile clubs to frequent, but Stevie was a one man Mardi Gras. They headed to Aubrey’s, a wine bar on the seafront complete with dance floor and 70s throwback disco ball, liberally decked out with Halloween decorations for the annual party, which was just twenty-four hours away. He didn’t seem to notice that Ashleigh wasn’t as excited as she should be about sealing the deal to photograph Zac’s album cover and, thank goodness, she’d managed to brush him off when he’d asked about Tom.
‘He was in Hythe, so he thought it would be a good opportunity to talk me through the details of the shoot.’ Ashleigh swallowed hard; she didn’t want to think too much about the side of Tom he’d revealed to her during the few minutes they’d been alone in her kitchen.
‘Did he seem upset about the Susie-Anne stuff?’ Stevie poured two glasses from the huge pitcher of virgin mojitos he’d ordered, when Ashleigh had insisted that she couldn’t face any more alcohol, and put the cocktail umbrella jauntily behind one ear.
‘He didn’t say much.’ Ashleigh hated not being straight with Stevie, but if she told him what had happened she might end up telling him about the kiss. He’d never let that go and, since there was hardly likely ever to be a repeat, it seemed pointless even telling him. ‘You know how Tom is. Very… business-like.’
‘And hot,’ Stevie grinned. ‘You know, I’ve never really been in to the alpha male type before, but there’s definitely something about our new boss that makes me want to rip off his cable knit sweater and see what’s underneath.’
The group sitting in the booth behind them snorted with laughter and a chinless, pasty-faced guy in a wax jacket mumbled something about not realising it was ‘poof’s night’. His three companions laughed loudly in response, as if he was some sort of wit rather than the complete arse he really was. Stevie, never one for discreet conversation, was his usual loud and proud self. Turning round to the two couples, who were clearly finding Stevie and Ashleigh’s conversation far more interesting than their own, he leaned conspiratorially over the back of the partition separating the two booths.
‘Trust me darling.’ He addressed the girl sitting next to wax jacket man. ‘You’d dump your bloke for our boss any day and, come to that, your bloke would definitely dump you for Tom. For a start he’s got less facial hair. The fancy dress party’s not until tomorrow, sweetheart, but you’ll definitely pass for Chewbacca no bother.’ Leaving them open-mouthed, Stevie knocked back the rest of his drink and pulled Ashleigh on to the dance floor.
‘Don’t let those idiots wind you up.’ She was shouting over the music, but Stevie couldn’t have looked less bothered.
‘Oh honey, I couldn’t give a toss about them.’ Stevie was pulling some moves probably never witnessed before in a little seaside town. ‘I really wanted you to have a great time tonight, to celebrate, but you seem on edge.’
‘I’m sorry. I know I’m being boring, but I think I’d rather go home.’ She should have realised that she couldn’t really hide anything from him. He’d seen her through the messy break up with Liam and others before him. They’d been there for each other for the past ten years. She’d have to tell him something to explain why Tom’s reaction had upset her so much, she just wasn’t sure what.
****
‘Come on then honey. Let’s be boring old farts. I’ll make us both a cup of tea and you can tell me what’s really up.’ Stevie disappeared into the kitchen as soon as they got back to the flat. From the window in the front room, the lights from five or six ships moored a few miles off the coast were visible in the otherwise inky black marriage of sea and sky.
‘Spill it then.’ Ashleigh jumped as he spoke. ‘I know something isn’t right. You should be dancing on the ceiling and you look like you’ve stepped in dog poo.’
‘I think I annoyed Tom again, with the whole Zac Starr thing.’ She swallowed a mouthful of tea he’d brought in, hoping it would push down the lump in her throat.
‘He’s just that sort. Mean and moody. He probably seems permanently naffed off, it’s part of his charm.’ Stevie put a biscuit in his mouth. He should have been twice the size given his penchant for biscuits, booze and Cornish pasties. ‘Anyway, if the Zac thing works out, you won’t need to worry about Tom anymore. You more or less said that Glitz is holding you back.’ He dunked another biscuit in his tea and half of it broke off as he lifted it out, plopping loudly into the cup and sending tea and bits of wet biscuit all over the place.
‘Yeah, but then I’d miss out on spending all my time with a sophisticate like you!’
‘Don’t change the subject. There’s more to it than that isn’t there?’ He cocked his head to one side, his fringe flopping into his eyes, which he narrowed in the style of a maverick cop. ‘You like him, don’t you?’ Stevie was bouncing with all the energy of Tigger on speed. ‘Tom and Ashleigh sitting in the tree, K. I. S. S. I. N. G.!’
‘Shut up! What are you? Twelve?’ Ashleigh grabbed the cushion from behind her on the chair, not sure whether to hurl it at him or to cover the blush that was creeping up her neck. So Stevie could read her like a book; that didn’t mean she had to fuel his adolescent hysterics. ‘It’s not that, I don’t like the idea of him thinking I’d sleep with Zac just to get a job, that’s all.’
‘Yeah, of course, honey, it’s just your professionalism speaking!’ He smirked, ducking out of the way as she went with her impulse and decided to hurl the cushion at him. This wasn’t good, though, she’d left crushes like this behind in the days of Bunsen burners and navy-blue gym knickers. If she didn’t admit it to Stevie, maybe she could get away with it, if her face didn’t give up the game first. The curse of the blush had haunted her since year nine when someone on the school bus had suggested that she had the hots for Mr Aspen, the biology teacher. Just because she’d offered to take the locusts home in the summer holidays. There was something creepily fascinating about them and the fact that Mr Aspen was a nice looking newly qualified teacher, at least 20 years younger than any of the other male staff, really had nothing to do with it. She’d tried to laugh it off, but a blush had taken hold and so she’d spent her final two years at school being taunted with the moniker ‘Ashleigh Aspen’.
‘You’re always telling me I worry too much about what other people think, so I don’t know why you’re finding it so hard to believe.’ She raised an eyebrow, daring him to deny it. Somehow she had to get Stevie off the scent and talk some sense into herself, before it was too late.
‘If that’s really all it is then stop worrying. I don’t suppose he even cares about you and Zac,’ Stevie winked. ‘Although never say never, he might well fancy the variety of a woman with flaws and unregulated lumpy bits one of these days.’
‘Well thanks!’ She was laughing, though, off the hook. Now she could just forget it had ever happened, accept that she’d blown things out of proportion - made too much of the kiss and how it had made her feel. Most of the time she didn’t even like Tom much. Next time she saw him there’d probably be nothing there, she was pretty much banking on it.
Chapter Eight
If seeing the guy who means nothing to you photographed arm in arm with another woman, two days after you’ve kissed him, makes you feel like you’ve been punched in the stomach by a heavyweight boxing champ, it probably means that you do quite like him, doesn’t it? Ashleigh was forced to face up to it. Obviously the kiss had meant nothing to Tom, judging by his closeness to the doe-eyed blonde he’d been pictured with the next evening, splashed all over the late editions of the morning papers. But her reaction to seeing those pictures when she picked up a copy of one of the tabloids in the shopthe corner shop was proof enough that, if this was just a crush, then it knocked the one she’d had for Mr Aspen out of the park.
‘Shall we go
up and see her then?’ Ashleigh spoke with her mouthful, as she emerged from the shop, already halfway through the packet of Rolos she’d bought as a direct result of seeing Tom’s picture in the gossip section of the paper. She wished her occupation hadn’t brainwashed her into automatically turning to that section of the tabloids first.
‘Of course honey. You know I love Carol, she’s always great for a laugh, but then she’s not my mum.’ Stevie winked. ‘Looks like she’s already driven you to chocolate and it’s only ten o’clock.’ Stevie got up from the bench outside the shop, where he’d been waiting and sneaking a quick cigarette.
‘Always best to line your stomach before taking my mother on. She’ll probably have made one of her organic chickpea concoctions that she’ll want us to try. I swear to God that you could render a house with her homemade houmous.’ She was happy to hide the real reason for her chocolate binge from Stevie.
The walk up to her mum’s house on the cliff top always reminded Ashleigh how unfit she was. Half way up she and Stevie stopped and lent against the flint wall running around the perimeter of one of the neighbouring properties. Admittedly, her high heeled boots and woollen dress wasn’t the most suitable of attire for a hill climb, but it was marginally more appropriate than Stevie’s sequinned T-Shirt, paired with a tuxedo jacket and the obligatory skinny jeans.
‘Nice arse darlin’.’ The comment was shouted from the window of a red transit van and its originator had disappeared by the time they swung round to hear who’d said it.
‘Whoa, do you think that was meant for you or me?’ Stevie lifted his jacket slightly and wiggled his bottom, Beyoncé style.